


Vegetable, Mineral

by siegeofangels



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, plant characteristics, rock characteristics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 16:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14241528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siegeofangels/pseuds/siegeofangels
Summary: In the spring, Sid flowers.





	Vegetable, Mineral

**Author's Note:**

> I've written some animal-characteristics fics, so I got thinking about plant characteristics. Not sure if this really goes anywhere, but here's a ficlet.
> 
> These plant and stone characteristics manifest as growths on/under the skin--heads up if you're squicked by that.

In the spring, Sid flowers. 

They're tiny blossoms that smell of nothing that Geno can sense, but he still loves them, loves to bury his face in Sid's groin and feel the petals tickle his nose. 

“It's not weird?” Sid asked him, worriedly, the first time. 

Geno had paused in trailing his fingers through them. “Little weird,” he said. “Rocks weird, you okay with that?” 

Sid poked at one of the bumps under Geno’s skin, along the line leading down his ribs. The bump is sensitive and a little itchy: a pebble, ready to push its way out and fall to the ground. 

“I guess we can be weird together, then,” Sid said, and Geno had to smile at that, and lean down to kiss just above the blooms. 

Now it's been a few years, and Sid scratches lightly at the pebbles, tosses them out into the yard when he finds them on the floor. Geno imagines he can smell the flowers. 

When Geno returns to Pittsburgh he notices something about Sid. 

“You don't usually grow,” he says cautiously, gently touching the hard green nub at the base of Sid's dick. 

“No,” Sid says. “I didn't think anyone was around who could, uh, pollinate. But I guess Worlds wasn't too late.” 

One of the other Canadians, then, someone who sneezes pollen or brushes it off his skin or, god forbid, jizzes it. Geno is suddenly incredibly jealous. 

“Who?” he demands. 

Sid shrugs and kind of pulls back. “I don't know, it's pollen, it's *airborne*. Come on, don't make it weird.” 

Geno frowns. “I thought you said we both weird.” 

Sid runs a hand down Geno’s torso, letting the blunt backs of his nails scrape over the line of bumps. One little lump of granite or quartz is almost ready to join the rest of the earth. It feels good, Sid scratching at it, and Geno pushes into his touch. 

“That one,” he says, and Sid digs in his nails. 

***

As the weeks go by, the green nub grows and darkens until it's a rich brown acorn with a cap the color of Sid's skin. 

Geno wakes up one morning to find Sid curled around him, humping his thigh in his sleep. The acorn is hard, almost a point of pain, so Geno wraps a hand around Sid's cock instead.  
Sid wakes up with a gasp. “Can you--it itches, I think it's the acorn--” 

And he knows how that feels, so Geno brings his other hand down to cup Sid's balls and then rub at the ripe acorn with the calloused pad of his thumb. Scratches around the base of it with his fingernails, and Sid grabs at the meat of Geno's shoulder, *hard*, and does a twisting thrust that makes the acorn pop right off of him. 

It ends up in Geno's hand. He reflexively closes his hand around it as he jerks Sid with the other. 

When they're both spent and dozing again in the morning sunshine, Geno opens his hand and brings the acorn up to look at it. “What you do with?” he asks Sid. 

Sid shrugs into the pillow. “I don't know, toss it in your yard like the pebbles?” 

What if a squirrel gets it, though? Pebbles are one thing, but this could grow. 

“I plant,” he tells Sid. “Be big tree, thick like papa.” He slaps Sid's ass for emphasis. 

Sid rolls his eyes but looks a little secretly happy. 

Geno imagines it: an oak, thick and lush, a good tree to sit under in the summer. Birds chirping from the branches, squirrels running up and down its bark. It’ll outlive them both, outlive their memories.

He can plant it now, let it sprout tiny leaves, then smuggle the seedling back to Russia next year. Plant it at his dacha, in the calm countryside. Let the long summer days nourish it. Something of Sid, back home. 

The pollen guy--whoever he is--will never see it, Geno thinks to himself, and buries his face in Sid’s neck to hide the smile.


End file.
